University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


F»rice,  ^5  Cta. 


AND 


1 


AND 


Various  Other  poems, 


BY 

JOHN    C 


San  Diego,  February,  A.  D.,  1893, 


I  would  not  have  one  shadow  less 

To  rest  upon  my  path — 
The  mingled  tears  shall  surely  bless 

The  cup  from  which  we  quaff. 


PREFACE. 


While  still  a  youth,  I  think  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  I 
determined  to  make  the  far-off,  world-wide  distant  Oregon  my 
manhood's  field  of  educational  labor.  The  discovery  of  golcl 
brought  me,  a  young  man  of  twenty-two  years,  upon  the  crest 
of  the  universal  tidal  wave  of  argonauts  to  this  then  new  territory 
of  the  Pacific.  My  plan  for  my  work  had  been  well  studied,  and 
I  came  prepared  for  my  undertaking.  This  special  field  for 
life's  labor  became  my  guiding  star  and  hereS^iested.  The 
secret  of  the  one  guiding  and  all-controlling  impulse  by  which 
I  was  led  to  choose  this  field  and  this  work  was  my  heart's  grat- 
itude to  the  free  public  school  system  of  New  England — to 
this  boon  and  blessing  of  my  orphaned  childhood  and  boyhood. 
That  I  came  hither  when  I  did  and  as  I  did  with  the  object  I 
had  in  view,  that  I  devoted  the  golden  era  of  my  life,  the  vigor 
and  ambition  of  youth,  the  strength  and  zeal  of  manhood,  the 
morning  and  the  meridian  of  life,  to  public  school  work,  (<&ly 
first  years,  more  than  gratuitously!)  is  by  no  means  a  matter  of 
regret  with  me.  Overwork  and  overzeal  has  no  doubt  hastened 
infirmity  ;  and  to  early  indifference  to  the  glittering  prize  of 
wealth  I  am  for  the  most  part  indebted  for  poverty  and  depend- 
ence in  old  age.  But  I  accept  it  all  as  a  part  of  my  appointed 
life,  without  murmur  or  complaint.  On  the  contrary  my  heart 
is  a  fount  of  overflowing  gratitude  to  innumerable  early  and 
later  friends  here  and  all  over  the  State,  who  remember  my 
early  life  and  are  not  unmindful  of  my  present  needs. 

--J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


^  I  'rice,  25  Ct». 


AND 


AND  OTHER    POEMS. 


r>\-  j.  c.  rivi/rox 

• 


^V  tread  not  yet  Elysian  Hold 
\Vf  KtHl  wearnarthiy  fetter. 

I'..:'  we'll  i>i  Joy  whm  life  doth 
Till  rpach'cl  that  wot  id  that's  hotter. 

W»>  .1^1  vn  tho  soil,  we  wn  ry  toil, 
We  (juulT  liie's  potion  blttnr- 

Yet  will  not  higher  life  despoil. 
Uy  murmuring  mid  tia-se  ivttera. 

Tin-  ch.'iiiis  whlrh  bind  tlu>  body  down, 

Tin-  noul  can  nt-vor  I'ettor; 
And  God  i-hali  yot  life's  Borrows  CIDWTI. 

And  break  OUT  galling  tether 

Patience.  t.» on,  faltorlnu ;  bus 

Toil  on  in  chafin*r  Ic;: 
K'r.'  |..i<$f  bunc/ith  th"  Onmi'-i.Mit 
We'll  r-'-K-h/i  i,'.»al  tlifit'n  titter. 


I   Must  Succeed. 


Ah,  yes,  my  friend.  I  must  succeed. 
Have  I  not  little  ones  to  heed? 
Their  little  hungering  mouths  to  feed? 
I  must  nnrt  will  succeed. 

Those  flaxen  heads,  in  sunshine  glad, 
Those  little  limbs — they  must  be  clad; 
And  roofless  heads:— indeeu  tio  sad; 
I  must  succeed  and  will. 

Dear  Innocents!  With  love  divine. 
And  trusting  heart,  which  throbs  with  mine, 
«od,  smooth  our  way  o'er  shores  <>f  time— 
I  must  and  will  succeed 

If  need  shall  be,  I'll  tramp  the  land 
FroinJtforthern  mount  to^tmthern  strand; 
I'll  tireless  ^eek  the  kindly  hand- 
Indeed,!  mart  succeed,  and  win. 


Waiting  for  Rest. 
* 


See  bottom  of  aovonth>page. 

Oh,  for  a  rest  !    for  a  respite  from  pain; 

For  I  am  weary  of  life's  buffets  and  struggles  so  vain, 

Weary  of  the  storms  which  sweep  over  the  main. 

I  am  weary  of  this  tramping  through  the  mart  and  the  street, 
Through  the  whirl  and  the  swirl  and  the  dust  and  the  heat, 
For  a  roof  that  may  shelter,  for  the  crumbs  I  may  eat. 

I  am  wearied  of  life's  phantoms  which  forever  have  fled, 
I  am  wearied  of  waiting  on  hopes  blighted  and  dead, 
I  am  weary  of  life's  wine-cup,  for  its  potion  is  red. 

I  am  weary  of  mirage  with  its  phantasies  vain  — 

With  the  glitter  of  life's  prizes,  or  of  wealth  or  of  fame  ; 

Oh,  for  the  rest  of  sweet  childhood  again, 

I  am  weary  of  life's  follies  and  its  errors  and  sin, 
Weary  of  life's  visions  in  the  far  distance  dim, 
Weary  of  piercing  'yond  provisions  of  men  — 
So  weary  of  thinking  of  "what  might  have  been," 
Except  for  life's  errors,  its  sorrows  and  sin. 

Oh,  I  am  wear}'  !    so  weary,  'mid  my  toiling  and  tears, 
I  am  faltering  'neath  the  burthens  of  life's  waning  years; 
Deep  ladened  with  its  sorrows,  its  dreads  and  its  fears. 

If  I  reach  forth  my  hand  and  would  pluck  golden  sheaf, 

I  turn  from  my  labor,  all  fruitless,  in  grief, 

For  I  garner  but  the  husks,  or  the  poor  withered  leaf. 

In  the  midst  of  life's  bounties  from  the  mount  to  the  main. 
In  the  midst  of  its  beauties  over  valley  and  plain, 
Both  my  heart  and  my  hand  still  struggle  in  vain  — 
O,  I  long  for  the  peace  of  sweet  childhood  again; 

Till  I'm  fainting  and  weary  ;  aye,  sighing  for  rest, 
Anxiously,  hopefully  longing  for  rest  : 
For  my  sun  all  in  peace  to  decline  in  the  West, 
And  'sink  neath  the  wave,  forever  at  rest. 

Oh,  I'm  crying  for  rest  !    for  a  respite  from  care, 
Which  my  spirit  and  my  soul  from  my  body  would  tear. 
Oh,  I'm  weary,  'neath  life's  burthens—  too  heavy  to  bear. 

Waiting,  still  waiting  —  hopefully  waiting; 
Waiting  for  my  respite,  praying  for  rest; 
Waiting  for  my  sun  to  go  down  in  the  West; 
Hopefully,  tearfully,  wearily  waiting, 
Till  he  sink  'neath  the  billows  all  peaceful  to  rest. 

But  with  hope  and  with  faith  and  with  trust  I'll  await, 
And  I'll  bid  calm  defiance  to  the  menace  of  fate, 
Till  the  angels  in  compassion  shall  open  the  gate 
And  benignantly  hail  "Come,  Bnter  !  and  worship 
With  the  good  and  the  great." 

Neath  the  mists  and  the  dun,  though  my  journey  be  run, 
Yet  from  rift  in  the  cloud,  o'er  the  down-going  sun, 
I'll  await  for  the  welcoming  "Come  hither,  my  son, 
Thy  journey  hath  ended.    It  is  well  !  it  is  done." 

—  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


'  Si- 
Sunday    Morn. 

i+~. 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  ! 
Away  the  shadows  of  the  night, 
Let  darksome  phantoms  fade  from  sight — 
Dissolve  before  the  golden  light 

This  glorious  Sunday  morn. 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  ! 
Be  curtains  of  the  night  withdrawn, 
Let  in  the  heavenly  beaming  dawn  : 
Anew  let  hope  and  cheer  be  born, 

This  gladsome  Sunday  morn. 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  ! 

While  murmuring  wavelets  from  the  main 
Respond  to  songsters  o'er  the  plain, 
With  grateful  hearts  we'll  join  refrain 

And  "Welcome  Sunday  morn." 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  ! 

While  shimmering  leaf  voice,  shrub  and  tree, 
From  mountain  bights  to  rippling  sea, 
And  flowerets  gem  the  glade  and  lea, 
We'll  lift  our  hearts.  O  God   to  the, 

This  heavenly  Sunday  morn. 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  ! 
So  in  thy  temple  wide  as  earth — 
'Neatb  lowly  roof,  from  humble  hearth, 
Within  onr  souls — let  joys  have  birth  ! 
Mingled  sweet  with  childhood's  mirth 

This  holy  Sunday  morn. 

This  Sunday  morn 
Let  mortal  join  in  Nature's  song, 
While  heaven  its  echoes  ^weet  prolong: 

"Bless  God  for  Holy  Sunday  morn." 

J.  C.  PEI/TON. 
Sunday  Morn,  San  Diego,  Feb.  7,  1892. 

*  >*<  •» 

United  We  Stand. 

I  see  through  mist  a  temple  rise,  so  fair, 

And  upward  glenm  in  beauty  'gainst  the  skies, 
The  pleasure  and  the  envy  of  all  eyes. 

And  o'er  each  tower  and  minaret  is  there 

Proudly  upraised  amid  the  shimmering  air, 
That  flag  which  o'er  the  crest  of  hero  flies. 

Alas  !  that  now,  'mid  moans  and  grief  and  sighs, 

The  structure  trembles,  topples  'mid  despair 
Of  thousands,  'neath  whose  proudly  gracious  glance 

The  beauteous  temple  er'st  so  grandly  rose. 
It's  columns  swaying,  !  envious  eyes  askance, 

Gaze  on  its  fate,  and  wondering  ask,  "who  knows?" 
"Who  knows?"  The  cause,  alas!  can  none  advance  ? 

Ah,  God  !  no  more  than  simply  this:  "Who  knows  ?" 

— J.  C.  PEVTON. 


Goes  Well. 

My  friend  :  you  ask  me  if  the  world  goes  well. 

Thank  you,  indeed  ;  but,  rather, — well  — "so,  so." 

Full  well,  alas  !  as  all  the  world  doth  know — 
(And,  hence,  it  needs  not  here  that  I  should  tell, 
Attempt  to  solve  life's  ever  mystic  spell,) 

That  o'er  all  earth  the  track  of  toil  is  slow  : 

'Tis  that  which  winds  o'er  Alpine  hights  of  snow. 
But  though  we  hear  of  hopes,  a  constant  knell, 

We  yet  see  hights  on  mountain  hights  arise, 

See  hopes  rekindle  still  while  others  die. 
Indeed,  still  thence  beyond  the  cloudiest  skies. 

Hope  yet  leads  on  the  ever  wistful  eye; 
And  useless,  all,  were  murmurs,  tears  or  sighs, 

While  phantoms  flit  and  brightest  visions  fly. 

— J.  C.  PEI/TON. 

P.  S. — I  have  to  ask  my  friends  who  have  subscribed  for  my 
book  to  be  very  indulgent.  Procuring  the  necessary  number 
of  subscribers  to  enable  me  to  publish,  I  find,  indeed,  a  toil- 
some task,  requiring  more  time  and  far  greater  labor  than  I  had 
anticipated.  Times  are  hard  and  money  scarce  everywhere — in 
San  Diego  especially.  However,  I  am  making  constant  pro- 
gress, and  shall  succeed  in  due  time,  if  I  live.  Meantime,  this 
little  herald-like  outrunner  will,  I  trust,  be  received  with  gen- 
erous public  favor  and  thus  greatly  aid  the  larger  undertaking. 

J.  C.  PEI/TON. 

Chaff. 

My  reader  :  be  not  exacting  : 

When  you  look  lor  the  wheat 
You  will  find  with  it  chaff; 
For  no  grain  e'er  was  garnered 

With  but  kernal  alone. 
If  you  thirst  at  a  fountain 

While  but  nectar  would  quaff, 
Go  seek  it  then  heavenward, 

For  on  earth  there  is  none. 
If  you  feast  upon  sighs 

While  others  shall  laugh, 
Look  for  pity  'yond  the  stars, 
For  nearer  there  is  none. 

Nay,  accept  with  the  good 
Not  a  little  that  is  bad  ; 
For  with  the  weal  there  is  woe 

The  earth  all  over. 
With  a  good  share  of  mirth 
Accept  much  that  is  sad. 
Nor  in  impotent  wrath 
All  good  reasoning  spurn 
And  wish  vainly  to  turn 
The  world  all  over. 

— J.  C.  PEi/TON. 


Didactic. 


We've  found  that  those  who  most  profess 
Are  surely  those  who  least  possess. 

Have  found  that  those  who  ne'er  forgive, 
Have  darkened  lives — unfit  to  live. 

Have  found  that  those  who  never  heed 
What  other  hungering  souls  may  need, 

Though  blessed  with  wealth  or  high  estate 
Are  morbid  victims,  cursed,  of  hate. 

They're  mountain  hights,  'neath  shrouds  of  snow, 
WTho  ne'er  the  gladning  sunbeams  know 
Which  bathe  the  verdant  glades  below. 

— J.  C.  PEI/TON. 

The   Poem   Peddler. 


Aye,  this  is  my  journey,  up  and  down 
Through  the  thronging  town — up  and  down  ; 
Through  the  heat  and  dust  of  the  heedless  town. 

Weary,  half  fainting,  for  something  to  eat ; 
Faltering'  indeed,  on  my  blistering  feet, 

Up  and  down  through  the  busy  town. 

But  this  is  appointed  :    up  and  down 
'Neath  tears  and  the  sneers,  the  smiles  and  the  frown 
Of  others,  forsooth,  whom  I  pass  in  the  town. 

Ah,  life  !  such  as  this,  it  seemeth  a  cheat  ! 
This  selling  of  poems  for  a  nickel  a  sheet, 

Up  and  down  through  the  heedless  town. 

'Neath  a  cold  indifference  and  a  haughty  frown. 

O,  that  a  smile  would  a  moment  beguile  ! 
O,  for  a  word  that  would  soothe  for  awhile  ! 

O,  that  a  hand  and  a  heart,  indeed, 

Would  the  pinching  of  poverty  thoughtfully  heed. 

O,  that  some  soul  would  a  sympathy  feel 

For  the  sigh  and  the  tear,  for  the  woe  or  the  weal — 
Of  a  struggler  who  wanders  up  and  down, 
Wearily  wanders  through  the  heedless  town  ; 

Up  and  down  on  his  blistering  feet, 

All  day  long  for  something  to  eat. 


WTith  faith's  content  we'll  bide  tomorrow, 
With  hope  and  song  defy  its  sorrow. 

— J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


Familiar   Ground. 


Ah,  yes,  my  friends,  I  know  the  ground  ; 

7  know  it  all  and  know  it  well, 
Where  mortal  feet  may  tread, 

Life's  rugged  pathway  up  and  down, 
By  fleeting  phantoms  led. 

'Neath  flattery  false,  and  fortune's  frowns, 

'Mid  fate's  mysterious  wed  — 
From  mountain  hights  to  depth's  profound, 

Till  lowly  droops  the  whitening  head. 
I  know  the  ground  and  know  it  well. 

And  this  I've  learned,  from  all  life's  years  ; 

Whate'er  betides  us,  ill  or  weal, 
That  smiles  are  better  far  than  tears, 

(Sighs  steal  our  hopes  and  give  but  fears  ;) 
Grief's  better,  far,  concealed. 

We  love  e'en  rosy  epitaph  — 

How'er  disguised  the  cup  may  be, 
Bitter  the  draught  from  which  we  quaff.) 
'Twere  happier,  far,  the  merry  laugh, 

Than  sighs  from  o'er  the  sea. 

And  this  full  well  and  oft  I've  learned, 

By  sore  experience  taught, 
That  wisdom  oft  were  dearly  earned. 
(As  counsel  oft  were  rashly  spurned.) 

And  fame  were  oft  too  dearly  bought. 

That  oft  in  sealed  cornerstone,  — 

'Neath  some  proud,  vaulting  tower, 
Both  name  and  fame  find  {home  — 

There  sleep  eternal  from  that  hour. 

And  now  I  stand  where  others  stood, 
The  wise  of  ages  firmly  stood, 

Firm  in  the  faith,  amid  earth's  strife 
That  better  part,  by  far  of  life, 

Were  found  in  wisely  doing  good. 
Aye.  wisely  doing  good  I 

—  J.  C.  PELTOK. 

'  3r'  *  •>*•»*  *>*<*  '  '-»*  4 

Small  is  one  in  the  world's  vast  hive, 
When  each  for  himself, 
For  lucre  or  pelf 
Is  ever  so  eagerly  stirring, 
Take  your  portion,  be  content, 
And  when  it  is  spent, 
Keep  on  with  the  world  still  whirling. 

—  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


NELL.* 

Lo,  beauteous  flower, 
Of  all  the  choicest  in  the  bower: 
But  cruel  breath  the  bower  enthralling 
The  floweret  fades,  its  petals  falling. 
Softly  softly!     Nell  is  dying- 
Darling  Nell. 

Don't  disturb  her.     Nell  is  dying- 
Darling  Nell. 
Beating  faster — 
Breathing  fainter,  she  is  dying 

Precious  Nell. 

Drooping  eyelids,  surely  closing. 
Waiting  robes  above  disclosing, 
Lo,  in  arms  unseen  reposing 

Nell  is  dying— darling  Nell. 
"While  dear  angels  watch  are  keeping, 
Sleep  comes  soft  o'er  eyelids  creeping — 
She  is  sleeping,  aye,  now  sleeping, 

Sweet  dear  babe!  Our  darling  Nell. 

Now  awakening  darling  Nell! 
Upward,  now,  lo,  upward    soaring, 
Little  hand,  uplift,  adoring, 

Little  heart  its  joy  out-pouring 

Sweet  dear'babe!  Our  darling  Nell, 
Lip  hath  faded,  cheeks  are  pale — 
Kissed  by  angels,  spirits  hail — 
Glides  our  darling  'yond  the  veil  — 
No  more  dying  sweet  dear  babe, 
Our  darling  Nell. 

THE  TRUE  TEACHER. 
Of  kindly  heart,  aud  genial  smile, 
Which  troubled  hearts  shall  sooth,  beguile, 
A  soul  deep  touched  by  childhood's  sigh, 
And  moved  to  tears  by  weeping  eye. 
This  is  the  teacher,  good  and  true, 
Who  lives  in  hearts  life's  journey  through. 
Patient  and  loving,  tender,  kind, 
Just  in  reproof,  and  never  blind; 
And  constant  as  the  speeding  wind. 
For  whom  each  morn  shall  toils  renew, 
And  every  hour  bring  duties  new, 
In  all  life's  toilsome  journey  through. 
This  is  the  teacher,  faithful,  true: 
\V  hile  other  hearts  shall  find  repose, 
While  other  lids  shall  softly  close, 
The  teacher's  lamp,  though  burning  low, 
Shall  still  on  sacred  altar  glow. 
But  hence  some  day  God's  reapers  come; 
Not  bugle  blast  or  beat  of  drum 
Shall  then  declare  our  journey  run 
But  sweetly  whispered  words, "Well  done." 
•On  the  death  of  a  beautiful  and  beloved~child~ 


BYE  AND  BYE. 


Bye  and  bye — 

It  is  finished — it  is  done! 

No  more  years — toilsome  years — 

No  more  sighs,  no  more  tears  — 

It  is  finished;  it  is  done! — bye  and  bye. 

Bye  and  bye — 

It  is  finished — it  is  done! 
And  a  lowly  sinking  sun 
'Neath  the  crimson  and  the  dun 

Beckons  gently,  it  is  done — bye  and  bye. 

Bye  and  bye — 

All  is  finished,  all  is  done! 
Softly  lies  the  head  at  rest, 
Folded  o'er  the  silent  breast — 
Work  all  done — hands  at  rest; 

All  is  finished,  all  is  done! — Bye  and  bye. 

Bye  and  bje — 

It  is  finished;  it  is  done! 

And  the  loving  gentle  word — 

Bending  lowly  (sweetly  heard), 

Angels  whisper  "It  is  done." 

Heavens  responding  "Peace,  well  done. 
It  is  finished,  it  is  done! — Bye  and  bye. 

So  we'll  wait,  aye  hopeful   wait, 
'Till  the  angels  ope  the  gate — 
'Till  we  hear: 

"It  is  finished,  it  is  done!" — Bye  and  bye. 


REFLECTION. 


'Mid  all  our  pangs  and  doubts  and  fears, 
Ambitions  crushed,  and  bitter  tears 

In  all  life's  weary,  wasted  years 

My  calm  reflection  oft  were  this; 

"God's  handy- work  is  ne'er  amiss." 

By  God's  own  hand  and  will  we're  here, 

Why  doubt  his  care?  His  will  why  fear? 

Why  then  the  sigh,  why  then  the  tear? 

A  grain  of  sand  mid  boundless  sea, — 
A  mote  amid  immensity 

May  sink  to  chambers  dark  and  deep, 
And  there  from  age  to  age  may  sleep; 

Yet,  still  secure — ne'er  cease  to  be, 
Nay,  never  lost,  O  God,  to  thee. 


SATURDAY  NIGHT. 


It  is  Saturday  night. 
Lo,  the  sun  in  the  west  goeth  down  to  his  rest; 

In  majesty,  peacefully  sinking  to  rest — 
'Neath  the  crimson  and  dun  his  journey  is  run. 
Nowr  the  shadow  of  night- 
It  is  Saturday  night. 
The  day  is  done,  and  the  week  is  gone; 
And  the  shadows  have  come,  and  the  curtains  are 

drawn, 
And  the  lamps  are  alight — 

It  is  Saturday  night. 

A  click  'neath  the  dial  in  its  unceasing  chime, 
A  stroke  of  the  lyre  of  on-marching  time 
In  his  on-hastening  flight — 

It  is  Saturday  night. 

A  few  more  rests  in  the  measure  of  time, 
A  few  more  beats  in  his  pulsating  rhyme, 
And  our  day  is  done,  and  our  journey  is  run. 
Then  lo,  in  the  west,  all  peaceful  to  rest, 
Our  down-going  sun  'neath  the  crimson  and  dun 
Mid  the  shadows  of  night — 

It  is  Saturday  night. 

Now  conscience  at  rest,  hail!  specters  of  night! 
All  conscious  of  right  will  repose  in  its  might — 
Wait  content  the  "awaking"  when   the  angels  of 

light 

Shall  fill  all  the  heavens  with  the  beams  of  delight; 
And  wre  cheerful  adieu  to  Saturday  night. 


SONNET-NIGHT. 


The  faithful  hand  maid  of  the  effulgent  ray — 
The  gentle  bride  of  glorious  Day,  is  Night! 
When  coursed  were  heav'ns  in  His  resistless  might 

His  glory  wanes,  then  final  fades  away; 

Then  shadows  fall  obedient  to  Her  sway; 
And  wearied  toilers  of  the  earth  unite 
In  sweet  repose,  and  dream  of  realms  of  light. 

Where  night  nor  shadows  wait  the  steps  of  day; 
Where  whispering  breeze  and  gently  murumriug 
seas 

In  gentlest  notes,  in  soft  melodious  chime, 
And  rippling  wavelets  'long  the  slumbering  lee, 

Still  note  the  onward  silent  tread  of  time 
Toward  that  e'er  blessed  realm  where  shadows  flee. 

And  happy  suns  'mid  heavens  eternal  shine. 


THE    KINTERGARDEN. 

Like  smiling  flowers  amid  parterre 
My  little  men  and  maidens  fair, 

Whose  presence  grace  this  sunny  hall. 

God  grant  that  shadows  ne'er  shall  fall 
To  blight  these  blossoms  fair. 

But  may  dear  flowerets  lovely  grow 
As  were  the  beauteous  sunset  glow — 
(Harmonious  tints  of  Iris'  beams,) 
And  radiant  as  the  morning  gleams 
On  crystal  heights  of  snow. 

But,  flowers  of  earth  live  but  a  day. 

Their  petals  fade,  in  dust  decay, 
Their  fragrance  lost,  their  beauty  gone, 
They  blight  and  fall  'neath  wind  and  storm 

Transcient  as  breath  of  May. 

God  grant,  unlike  the  floral  bloom, 
Whose  blushes  fade  and  fall  so  soon, 
These  eyes  and  cheeks  shall  brighter  glow, 
These  minds  and  hearts  more  beauteous  grow 
On  earth  and  'yond  the  tomb. 

These  rosy  lips  indeed  may  pale, 
These  pulses  still,  these  heart-throbs  fail; 
But  yet  that  life  we  live  to-day, 
If  so  we  will,  like  Heavenly  ray, 

Shall  light  our  way  beyond  the  tomb. 

Rejoice,  rejoice  in  childhood  mirth, 
Bring  gladsome  cheer  'round  sacred  hearth; 
In  merry  voice  with  nature  sing, 
And  gambol  'mid  the  flowers  of  spring, 
Which  gem  the  beauteous  earth. 

While  sunbeams  o'er  your  hearts  shall  play 
While  merry  lark  shall  chant  her  lay, 
May  waiting  angel's  gentle  hand 
Safe  guide  your  footsteps  t' ward  the  lands 
Where  flowers  no  more  decay. 


INVOCATION. 

Beloved  muse,  why  tarriest  thou? 

Doth  not  my  tearful  pleading  voice — 
Imploring — crave  thy  presence  now 

To  make  my  soul  once  more  rejoice? 

Offended  art  thou,  charming  one, 

By  seeming  infidelity? 
For  once  I  worshiped  at  thy  throne, 

And  thou  didst  greet  and  smile  on  me. 

Thy  dainty  fingers  touched  my  eyes — 
O,  magic  change — o,  wondrous  gleams! 

What  glorious  sunshine!  radiant  skies! 

Which  o'er  me  threw  their  dazzling  beams. 


My  ears  them  press'd — what  sounds  were  these! 

I  knew  the  language  of  the  waves! 
The  birds,  the  flowers,  the  trembling  leaves 

Lent  me  the  voice  my  soul  now  craves. 

O,  come  again,  sweet  Euterpe! 

Teach  me  thy  songs  of  former  years, 
When  all  the  world  was  joy  to  me — 

Before  I  knew  life's  griefs  and  tears. 

O,  come  again,  my  Euterpe, 

Throw  o'er  my  heart  thy  halo  swyeet — 

O,  bring  thy  presence  near  to  me, 
Now  kneeling  humbly  at  thy  feet. 

MARGARET  W.  PEI/TON.* 
*Mrs.J.  C.  Pelton,  to  whom  I  am  immeas- 
urably  indebted  for  criticism,  revision,  and 
othei  aid  in  my  literary  work, 

My  Partner  and  I. 

Once  a  time,  (now  late  in  the  years 
When  life's  stimulants  common  nor  gladd'n  nor  cheer 
When  skies  were  cloudy,  not  often  were  clear), 
I  sighed  for  a  rest,  for  a  little  vacation 
From  business  vexation,  some  meet  relaxation; 
And  also,  indeed,  some  change  in  vocation. 

I  was  weary  of  toiling  and  sweating  and  care, 
Chasing  phantoms  as  fleeting  and  light  as  the  air, 
And   smiles  of  caprice  as  false  as  were  fair. 

So  I  took  me  a  partner,  young  vigorous  and  strong. 
(He'd  a  heart  like  a  stone,  and  of  nerve,  his  a  thong 
Of  a  cow-hide — a  lasso;  and  of  honor,  he  had  none). 

Said  this  gentleman  friend  (?)  to  me  one  day: 
"Come,  down  from  your  wagon,  I've  someting  to  say; 
Something  to  propose  to  you  in  a  business  way! 
You  are  old,  my  friend,  already  your  head 
Is  whitening  and  drooping,  and  faltering  your  tread ; 
Why  longer  thus  toil,  to  vexation  be  wed? 

"Come,  I  have  experience,  and  you  have  the  cash, 
You're  generous  to  a  fault,  and  I — I'm  not  rash, 
We'll  have  harmony  always,  nay,  we  never  can  clash; 
I've  lots  of  experience,  you've  plenty  of  cash. 

Agree?  agree?  well,  we'll  both  be  like  men; 

We've  experience,  and  money,  and  honor,  I  ken; 
I'll  pick  up  the  pennies,  and  you'll  wield  the  pen."* 

•'Agreed,"  said  I;  (willing,  my  eyes  quickly  filling, 
All  my  heart  with  joy,  and  gratitude  thrilling:) 
"I'll  take  your  experience,  and  here  is  my  shilling." 

Now  the  outcome  was  this,  of  this  partnership  bliss: 
My  "pard"  took  my  cash,  in  a  manner  too  rash; 
And  now  I've  experience  but  minus  my  cash. 

'Editorial. 


THE  STILLY  HOUR. 

Sweetly,  now,  the  balmy  breeze 

Whispers  softly  through  the  leaves: 

Pensive  winds  from  yonder  seas 

Gently  murmur  through  the  trees; 

Mystic  rhymes  now  sweetly  blend, 
Chiming,  floating  through  ""The  Glens." 

Glowing,  golden,  in  the  West, 

Slowly  sinks  the  sun  to  rest; 

Now  unwreathed  the  mountain  crest, 

Shadows  deepen  o'er  his  breast; 

Crimson,  now,  with  orange  blends; 
Shadows  lengthen  in  "The  Glens." 

Now,  beneath  the  twilight  sky, 

Eagle  soars  to  eyrie  high; 

Now  the  lonely  heron's  cry; 

Nestward,  now,  the  swallow's  fly; 

Wandering  herd  unhurried,  wends 
Homeward  pathway  toward  "The  Glens." 

Bees  have  kissed  the  closing  flower; 

Birds  have  sought  their  sheltering  bower. 

Lo,  a  hushed,  mysterious  power 

Whispers  sweet,  "  'Tis  evening  hour." 
Shadows  deepen  at  "The  Glens," 
Night  with  day  harmonious  blends. 

Hidden,  now,  the  orb  of  day, 

Rules  no  more  in  proud  display — 

Throws  aside  His  beaming  ray, 

Yields  to  gentle  night  her  sway — 

O'er  the  mount  and  glade  and  glen, 
O'er  the  forest,  field,  and  fen. 

Pattering  feet  now  cease  their  tread, 

Evening  vespers  sweetly  said, 

Pillowed  now  the  infant  head, 

Childhood  dreams  in  tiny  bed; 

'Mid  the  shadows  of  the  Glens 
God  His  bounteous  mercy  sends. 

Lo,  'mid  stilly  hours  of  night, 

Hither  angels  wing  their  flight; 

While  the  starry  gems  of  light 

Keep  our  dreaming  visions  bright. 
Thus  around  our  peaceful  Glens 
Waiting  Heaven  its  blessing  sends — 

While  untiring  lord  of  day 

Round  the  earth  shall  speed  his  way; 

'Till  the  morning  breaking  rays 

Glories  of  Supreme  display; 
Endless  all  in  love  again 
Lights  the  glebe,  and  glade  and  glen — 

Lights  in  gorgeous  tints  of  gold, 

Jewels  of  the  earth  untold — 

Lights  life's  pages  yet  unrolled; 

Lights  poor  weary  hearts,  and  cold; 

Lights  till  hence  from  shadowing  glen 
Heavenward  find  we  home  again. 


REMEMBER-50  Years  Ago. 


To  Mrs.  J.  C.  G.* 

Remember  thee? 

Ah,  yes,  I  do  remember  thee, 

Indeed;  and  well  remember  C. 

That  kindly  word,  that  gentle  voice — 
That  tender  look,  that  genial  smile — 
Of  youthful  pleasure  these  my  choice; 
These  most  did  youth  beguile. 
Nay,  never  yet,  no,  never  yet — 
Nay,  never  more,  shall  I  forget 
How  dear  thou  wert  to  me. 

Ere  ever  yet  my  tender  heart 
Had  felt  love's  sweet  yet  lurking  smart, 
(Ere  yet  'twas  stung  by  Cupid's  dart,) 
My  thought  went  out  in  love  to  thee — 
How  pure  in  love  to  thee,  dear  C. 

Ere  care  had  worn  its  deepening  trace, 
Ere  sorrow  found  abiding  place, 
And  rested  there  in  furrowed  face, 

How  fond  my  thought  went  out  to  thee, 

To  thee,  how  pure,  to  thee. 

Ere  manhood's  duties,  toils  and  cares, 
(Along  its  path  ten  thousand  snares), 
Ere  garnered  yet  life's  worthless  tares, 
Ere  yet  had  whispered  love:  "Beware!" 

My  heart  went  out  in  love  to  thee 

To'  thee,  dear  C.,  to  thee. 

And  now  when  droops  the  whitening  head, 
While  slow  and  faltering  were  my  tread — 
Since  boyhood  dreams  and  hopes  are  dead, 
And  youthful  phantoms  sweet  are  fled  , 

My  heart,  dear  C.,  goes  out  to  thee 

In  sweet  and  tender  memory. 

Nor  never  yet — no,  never  yet — 
'Till  life's  low  sun  declining  sets — 
No,  ne'er  indeed,  shall  I  forget 
How  dear  thou  wert  to  me. 

And  so,  while  memory  lingers,  still 

A  thought  of  thee  my  heart  shall  thrill, 

And  oft,  unbidden,  tear  shall  fill — 

Shall  tender  thoughts  go  out  to  thee. 

Aye,  still  shall  fondest  memories 

Go  out  in  love  to  thee. 


*A  teacher  of  my  youth,  50  years  ago,  from  whom  I  have 
just  received  a  letter.— Feb.  15,  1892. 


My  Creditors. 

Oh,  friends:     Do  I  not  know  you? 
Indeed,  and  that  I  owe  you. 

And  this  too,  I  know,  of  my  purse, 

That  'tis  empty. 

Not  a  nickel  is  there:  its  contents  is  air, 
And  when  it  were  not  so,  indeed  it  were  rare. 

Empty,  quite  empty. 

And  an  empty  purse,  'twere  nearly  a  curse — 
A  miserable  thing,  to  be  sure. 

But— 

Till  the  thing  can  be  cured,  it  must  be  endured, 

Of  course,  to  be  sure. 

But  I  am  not  a  lemon — to  be  seized  and  be  squeezed; 
Nor  a  nurse — to  be  sucked,  be  milked  and  be  teased 
As  if  e'en  my  blood  would  an  hunger  appease. 

Nay,  patience,  kind  friend,  await  and  endure, 
Till  fortune  shall  smile,  if  indeed  shall  not  laugh, 
My  potion  is  the  bitterest,  by  far,  yet  I  will  it  quaff. 

Meanwhile  I  will  tramp — 

From  southernmost  strand  to  the  northernmost  land. 
And  the  nickel  and  the  dime  will  I  seek  from  the  hand 

That  the  nickel  and  the  dime  hath  to  spare 
For  the  worn  and  the  weary  who  tramp  o'er  the  land, 

Gray  headed  and  faltering — almost  in  despair. 

And  my  purse  when  replenished 
(And  my  wandering  is  finished,) 

I'll  divide  with  my  friends — to  be  sure. 
Till  then,  o,  ye  friends,  be  patient, 

Be  forgiving,  be  kind,  and  endure. 

Endure  and  be  patient 
While  footsore  and  weary,  tired  faltering  and  teary, 

I  tramp  o'er  the  land — 

On  my  blistering  feet,  in  the  dust  and  the  heat 
Thro'  the  mart  and  the  street,  for  the  crumbs  that  I  eat 
And  for  the  nickel  for  you — aye,  honestly  due — 

I'll  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

Toil-worn  and  weary,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp; 

Hopeful  and  prayerful,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
And  as  possible  cheerful  with   hope's  lighted  lamp, 
Though  oft  may  be  tearful,  I'll  tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

SUNBEAMS    AND   SHADOWS. 

Low,  Sunbeams  climb  the  mountain  crest, 
Then  fill  all  earth  with  light  and  joy; 

Then  followeth  Night  upon  whose  breast, 
In  peaceful  rest,  we  silent  hours  employ. 

I  would  not  have  one  shadow  less 
To  rest  upon  my  devious  path; 

Their  mingled  tears  shall  duly  bless 
The  cup  I  willing  quaff. 


Look  for  the    Good. 

^=$<- 

Do  we  love  what  is  noble,  what  is  honest,  what  is  true. 
Or  the  low  and  repulsive,  the  odious  to  sight  ? 

The  good  and  the  pure,  or  the  hateful  in  man  ? 
Love  the  heavens  and  the  fields  in  emerald  and  blue, 

Or  the  gloom  of  earth's  sorrows  and  the  darkness  of  night, 
Earth's  beauties  and  bounties,  or  its  shades  in  the  van  ? 

Love  the  mount  and  the  valley,  the  glade  and  the  lea, 

All  clad  in  rich  garments  perennial  of  spring? 
Or  ruins  and  confusion,  which  a  chaos  shall  bring? 

Love  landscape  of  beauty,  laved  by  waves  of  the  sea — 
Love  that  which  to  heart  a  sweet  soothing  may  bring, 
Or  that  which  o'er  life  a  shadow  shall  fling  ? 

Then  turn  ye  the  camera  from  the  drear  parching  plain, 
Where  the  wistful  and  weary,  yet  the  still  searching  eye 

Wanders  ever  and  ever  yet  wanders  in  vain 

For  some  oasis  verdant  'neath  the  o'er-spreading  sky  ; 

Turn  to  field  all  joyous,  which  giveth  not  pain. 

Nor  hath  heartaches,  nor  sorrows,  nor  sighing,  nor  tears. 

Xor  need  we  look  heavenward,  or  gaze  'yond  the  main  ; 
It  is  here  all  around  us.  'tis  beneath  every  eye  : 

'  Tis  the  good,  not  the  evil,  inherent  in  man. 

Aye,  look  for  the  good,  'tis  the  far  wiser  plan. 
Here's  the  field  that  shall  cheer  and  shall  gladden  the  eye. 
More  beauties  hath  not  heaven,  nor  the  earth,  nor  the  sky  ; 
Then  look  for  the  good  inherent  in  man. 

O,  how  oft  'mid  the  toils  and  the  sorrows  oi  life 

Were  the  hand  fraternal  extended, 
Kxcept  for  the  smile,  or  a  kiss,  or  a  tear, 

In  the  midst  of  earth's  strife, 
God  knows  how  one  life  might  have  ended. 

O,  the  good,  not  the  evil  !  tis  the  Omnipotent's  plan. 

Then,  look  for  the  good  inherent  in  man. 

REFLECTION. 

Alas,  my  dear  God  !  but  had  I  the  pen, 
Or  failing  in  that,  then  had  I  the  tongue, 

What  a  chant  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  I  would  fling  : 
Such  as  by  mortal  before  hath  never  been  sung, 

Should  my  voice  in  the  ear  of  humanity  ring  : 
"  Look  for  the  good  not  the  evil  in  man  !  " 

I'Vom  high  and  the  humble  should  this  chorus  outring, 
And    the   priest   and  the  prince,  and  the  knight  and  the 

king, 

With  the  ballet  and  the  paeon  should  unitedly  sing  : 
"  Look  for  the  good,  not  the  evil  in  man." 

Aye,  the  mount  and  the  vale  should  respond  to  my  song, 
Both  the  earth  and  the  sea  should  in  its  echo  prolong  ; 
It  should  waft  on  the  winds  of  the  world  all  around, 
Till  the  east  and  the  west  and  the  poles  should  resound: 
"Look  for  the  wood  inherent  in  trnn  !  " 


The  Ladder. 

Behold,  a  ladder  !  let  gently  down  from  heaven  ! 

Gently  let  down  to  rest  on  shores  of  time. 
Its  upmost  reach  mid  fleecy  clouds,  all  riven 

By  golden  sunbeams  from  the  throne  Divine  ; 
From  halo  beauteous  as  the  rainbow's  hue — 

Inspiring  hope,  uplifting  heart  anew\ 

Its  feet  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages  placed — 

Ages  which  ne'er  beginning  had,  nor  ne'er  have  end. 
Rests  there  secure  till  scrolls  of  time's  erased, 

Till  aeons  past  with  aeons  hence  shall  blend. 
O.  blessed  rescue  !  from  earth's  e'er  piteous  storm, 

Of  billions  gone  and  billions  yet  unborn. 

Though  darksome  billows  round  its  base  still  roll, 
In  angry  tumult  toss  their  crests  on  high, 

Yet  there,  behold,  beneath  the  Onmescient  eye, 
Heaven's  rescued  millions  counts  upon  its  scroll — 

Rescued  from  cruel  surge  of  Vlie  warring  sea 

To  dwell  in  peace  eternal  ;  to  dwell,  O  God, with  Thee. 

O,  Rock  of  Ages  !  priceless  boon  !  'Tis  hope/ 
O,  blessed  hope  !  Offspring  of  Heaven— thy  goal, 

Thy  home,  thy  throne.     Forever,  blessed  hope  ! 
The  golden  anchor  of  the  priceless  soul  ! 

Let  down  from  heaven  by  loving,  unseen  hands 
To  save  poor  mortals  mid  earth's  shifting  sands. 

The  ladder,  lo  !  from  heaven  let  gently  down, 
And  firmly  held  by  unseen  angels'  hands — 

('Mid  silvery  mists  lo,  golden  crown  ! ) 
Is  Mercy's  gift,  to  serve  as  love  demands  : 

To  save  from  earthly  beating  waves  and  storm, 
When  other  rescue  sinking  soul  hath  none. 

And,  lo  !  Love's  holy  messengers  are  there, 
In  robes  all  spotless  as  the  Alpine  snow, 

Enwreathed  in  heavenly  smile — holy  and  fair  ! 

They're  upward  pointing,  heavenward,  from  below, 

And  from  their  lips,  in  tones  of  tenderest  love  : 
"Come,  toilers,  to  that  rest  of  realms  above." 

The  Eternal  One,  who  thrones  amid  the  spheres  above, 

Who  reigns  beyond  creations  starry  bounds — 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  and  spheres  on  spheres — is  love  ! 

And  universes  all,  with  love  resound: 
"Hail,  precious  boon  !     Hail,  priceless  heavenly  love  ! 

From  vasty  deep  !    From  vasty  heights  profound  !  " 
And  misty  space,  'yond  mortal  ken,  resound: 

"Hail,  Gifts  Divine  !     Immortal  hope  and  love." 

—  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


Deaf  and    Mute. 


(  Sonnet.  ) 
Silent  I  stand  amid  life's  flow  and  ebb, 

And  gaze  bewildered  on  its  restless  swirl. 
Indeed,  my  palsied  senses  daze  and  whirl 

Amid  the  maze  of  life's  entangled  web  ; 
In  cautious  fears  by  timid  step  I  tread. 

While  others  proud  life's  gleaming  flag  unfurl, 

I  stand  aside,  a  sullen,  moody  churl, 
And  murmur  that  my  earthly  joys  are  fled. 

But  thanks  go  up  that  music  of  the  spheres 
Throughout  the  realms  of  happy  earth  and  skies, 

Sweetly  re-echo  through  my  deafened  ears, 
And  hush  and  soothe  the  murmurs  and  the  sighs; 

Drive  quick  away  the  useless  rising  tears, 
And  make  me  joyous  that  I'm  blessed  with  eyes. 

— J.  C.  PP;LTON. 

Infancy. 

(  Sonnet.  ) 
The  beaming  heaven  o'er  which  the  cloudlets  fly, 

The  landscape  fair  o'er  which  swift  shadows  chase, 

While  mingling  sunbeams  join  the  merry  race. 
A  bubbling  fount  with  crystals  filled  ;  a  cry, 
A  rapturous  joy-  sweet  blending  with  the  sigh  ; 

E'er  yet  deceits  and  sinful  blush  deface, 

Or  sorrows  leave  their  ever  deepening  trace. 
The  beauteous  vale  o'erspread  with  fragrant  bloom, 

The  golden  blush  o'ergilding  mountain  crest, 
E'er  yet  the  beaming,  weary,  sultry  noon 

Glides  dreary  down  beneath  the  clouding  West. 
A  laugh,  a  cry"  a  hope,  the  sigh  too  soon  ; 

And,  e'er  were  yet  life  well  begun,  ah,  yes  ! 
A  joy,  a  hope  ;  of  life  the  blessed  boon. 

— J.  C.  PEI/TON. 

That   Chord. 

Around  my  neck  by  tender  hand 

A  silken  chord  was  flung — 
What  saddening  tale  could  tell  that  strand, 

Had  it  a  voicing  tongue. 
Alas  !  my  Lord, 

Full  oft,  indeed,  mid  earthly  bliss, 
There  hangs  some  secret  pang. 
Ah,  me  ;  alas,  and  now — if  not  amiss, 
What  tale  upon  this  theme  would  hang. 
That  silken  chord. 

But  silent  hangs  the  silken  chord 

And  silent  best  the  tougue, 
While  we  forgive  that  softest  hand 

Which  sorrow  o'er  us  flung. 

O,  silken  chord.  -[  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


Beyond  the  Veil. 

When  closed  are  the  eyes, 
Then  hushed  are  the  sighs  r* 

'Yond  life's  shadowy  vale 

Who  shall  pierce  through  the  veil  ? 
Who  lift  the  dark  pall  ? 
Nay,  we'll  wait  for  our  call  — 

For  our  uprising  sun, 

'Yond  the  mist  and  the  dun. 

Wait  for  the  angels 
To  rekindle  our  light  ; 

To  guide  from  the  tomb 

Thence  away  from  its  gloom, 

To  the  realms  eternal 
Of  peace  and  delight. 

—  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


My    Epitaph. 

God  grant  — 

As  life's  sore  battle-scars  shall  heal, 
And  time  in  softened  footsteps  steal, 
That  we  again  shall  tender  feel 
A  heart's  deep  throb  for  others  weal. 

God  grant  — 

While  yet  in  life  we  linger  still, 
This  side  the  ever  waiting  tomb, 
By  love  and  word,  by  deed  and  will 
We  may  some  darkened  heart  illume. 

God  grant  — 

While  yet  amid  life's  ripened  years 
We  may  some  stricken  hearth  yet  cheer, 
Assuage  some  grief  dispel  some  fear, 
From  dimming  e>  e  may  brush  some  tear, 

God  grant  — 

That  'mid  life's  constant  shifting  sands, 
Still  toiling  o'er  its  weary  strand, 
By  kind  and  timely  outstretched  hands 
We  other  faltering  steps  may  stay, 
And  from  our  lamps  some  cheering  ray 
Be  thrown  o'er  other's  darkened  way. 

God  Grant  — 

That  could  I  write  my  epitaph  — 

These  graven  words  in  truth  might  read, 
On  humble  shaft  in  my  behalf, 

For  all  the  world  to  heed: 
Here  lieth  low  the  humble  dust 

Of  one  of  kindly  deed. 
With  faith  in  God  and  reverent  trust, 

The  poor  he  sought  to  feed, 
He  heard  the  words  "earth's  treasures  rust," 
My  bleating  lambs  go  feed. 

—  J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


Haste  Onward,  O,  Time. 


Ever  onward  !  still  onward,  O  Time,  in  thy  flight. 

Serenly,  supremely,  in  majesty's  might. 

Let  the  past  with  the  past  forever  be  buried, 
While  onward,  ever  onward,  unresisting  we're  hurried — 
Onward,  still  onward. 

Let  the  past,  all  in  crimson,  or  in  lurid  and  dun, 
Hang  in  the  heavens  o'er  the  down  going  sun, 

O'er  life's  battles  we  have  lost,  o'er  its  battles  have  won. 
What  we  hope  for,  what  we  may  do  ;  not  what  we've  done, 
Let  these  be  survivors  till  our  journey  is  run — 
Onward,  and  onward. 

O,  the  errors  and  sorrows,  the  tears  and  the  sighs, 

Of  a  life  burdened  journey  'neath  the  unheeding  skies. 

Speed  onward  !  still  onward,  O  Time,  in  thy  flight ! 

Let  the  flashes  of  thy  footsteps  throw  forward  the  light 
Onward,  still  onward. 

May  the  shadows  of  the  night  still  benignantly  fall, 
Till  oblivious-drawn  curtains  be  the  merciful  pall  ; 
Let  the  past  be  wrapped  in  the  unyielding  shroud ; 
From  the  future  be  the  lightened  and  uplifted  cloud. 

Onward  !  still  onward,  OTiine,  in  thy  flight ; 
Serenely,  supremely  in  majesty's  might. 

O,  the  past !  with  its  sigh.-,  with  its  cries  and  its  tears ; 
With  its  sorrows  of  childhood,  with  its  life  blighted  years. 

Onward,  O,  onward;  Time  hasten  thy  flight  ! 

Be  the  past  deed  buried  in  an  unwakmg  night. 

Ah,  life  !    'Tis  a  cry,  then  a  laugh,  then  a  tear. 
Ah,  life  !  'Tis  beyond  ;  aye,  beyond  !    'Tis  not  here. 
And  this  my  comfort,  my  solace  and  cheer. 

Then  haste  thee,  O  Time  ;  O,  hasten  thy  flight ! 

In  the  womb  of  the  future  would  I  rest  me  to-night. 

Let  the  sun  gild  thy  pathway,  let  the  stars  lend  their  light. 
Let  the  moon's  gentle  beams  speed  onward  thy  flight ; 
For  I  am  weary  of  life's  toilings,  its  struggles  and  tears, 
I'm  weary  of  the  burthens  of  life's  waning  years. 

O,  hasten  thy  footsteps  !  Haste  onward,  O  Time  ! 
Bear  me  hence  safely  on  in  thy  mercy  sublime — 
Restfully,  trustfully,  to  the  Presence  Divine. 

— J.  C.  PEI/TON. 


*  Since  nervous  prostration  twenty  years  ago,  the  writer  has  known  not 
one  moment,  day  or  night,  without  pain—most  of  the  time  an  insupportable 
nerve  torture  in  my  brain.  .TCP 


Disguise. 

Disguise  ?  Beneath  the  wide,  o'erreaching  skies, 
What  find  we  clad  in  no  disguise  ? 
Nor  need  this  cause  a  sad  surprise; 

Entirely  useless  tears  or  sigh, 

And  fruitless  all  to  question  why — 
Why  wrong  were  oft  in  right's  disguise. 

Where  e'er  we  turn  in  quest  the  eyes 

Beneath  the  heaven's  o'er-arching  skies, 

There  nature  hath  some  sweet  disguise: 

Behold  the  rose  'mid  thorny  shield, 

The  treacherous  moat  with  vine  o'ersealed, 

The  traitorous  rocks  with  flowers  concealed. 

Alas  !  full  oft  the  placid  wave, 

Were  waiting  shroud  for  true  and  brave — 

'Neath  glassy  sheen  the  caverned  grave. 

But  list !  Let  nature  wear  a  smiling  face; 
Let  sunbeams  o'er  the  landscape  chase 
Each  cloudy  phantom's  hurried  pace. 

Let  lotus  blush,  in  beauty  bloom, 
Let  sunshine  guild  life,s  cloudy  noon, 
Let  garland  wreaths  o'erspread  the  tomb; 

While  smiles  disguise  tear  dimning  eyes. 
Let  hope  relighted  'yond  the  skies 
Hail  here  all  nature^  sweet  disguise. 

'TIS   WELL. 

Ah,  yes  !  tis  well.     Aye,  all  is  well. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  'twere  sweet,  the  knell — 

Its  graver  chimes  with  tinkling  bell. 

We  may  not  all  life's  sorrows  drown, 
But  nature  'neath  her  starry  crown, 
Whispers:  "With  smiles  disguise  the  frown." 

Ah;  yes  !  'tis  well;  forever  well  ! 

'Tis  well,  that  o'er  the  threatening  cloud 

Sweet  Iris  flings  her  beauteous  bow; 
'Tis  well  that  o'er  the  snow&shroud, 

The  sunbeam  hath  most 'gorgeous  glow. 

'Tis  well  !  Aye,  well  and  all  is  well  ! 

Both  earth  and  heaven  respond,  '"Tis  well  !  " 

And  echo  answers  "  All  is  well." 

"Disguise  life's  ills," — full  oft  too  near, 
Disguise  their  haunts  and  dreads  and  fear, 
With  smile  disguise  the  trickling  tear. 

Let  sorrow  still,  like  phantoms  fly  ; 

Let  cheer  and  smile  brush  tear,  hush  sigh  ; 

Let  hope  of  heaven  uplift  the  eye, 

And  then,  indeed  ;  indeed,  'tis  well, 
Amid  life's  tears  and  toils,  'tis  well  ; 
And  heavenly  angels  chime  '"Tis  well." 

— J.  C.  PKLTON. 


SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA  PRINTING  CO!,  938-40    D  ST. 


HISTORICAL. 


The  first  free  public  school  announcement  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  was  by  J.  C.  Pelton. 

The  first  recognition  of  the  free  public  school  system  was 
at  my  interposition  in  its  behalf. 

The  first  public  school  ordinance  was  drawn  at  my  request 
by  Hon.  H.  C.  Murray. 

The  first  public  appeal  in  behalf  of  the  common  free  public 
school  system  on  this  Coast,  was  made  by  tongue  and  pen  of  J. 
C.  Pelton.  The  first  public  school  law  was  written  by  my  pen. 

The  first  public  school  report  in  California  will  be  found  in 
San  Francisco's  dust  buried  "Chronicles"  over  my  signature. 

The  first  public  school  seal  has  my  humble  name  beneath 
its  impress. 

The  first  elected  incumbent  to  the  office  of  Superintendent  of 
Schools  of  county,  and  city  and  county  of  San  Francisco  was 
the  undersigned,  J.  C.  Pelton. 

The  first  organizer  and  first  superintendent  of  the  first  Re- 
form School  was  J.  C.  Pelton. 

The  organizer  of  the  first  San  Francisco  cosmopolitan  school 
was  the  undersigned. 

Then,  the  reorganization  of  the  San  Francisco  Industrial 
School  —  two  and  a  half  years  of  unceasing  toil  and  anxiety  and 
care,  brought  the  undersigned  at  last  to  be  at  least  among  the 
vState's  educators  of  the  present  day. 

—  J.  C. 


* 


